The Italian's Marriage Bargain. Carol Marinelli

his ruin, it had never sat quite right with Luca, and now, as he looked into the face of his predecessor’s daughter, the niggling guilt suddenly multiplied.

      ‘It was a business deal,’ Luca said, but his voice wasn’t quite so assured.

      ‘Sure,’ Felicity snapped.

      ‘I’m sorry for what happened, but it’s hardly my fault. Your father was a poor businessman. He got himself—’

      ‘My father,’ Felicity flared, unbridled anger making her voice tremble as she met her enemy. ‘My father was a wonderful businessman. He still is, come to that. The only reason the dump that the resort now is still survives is thanks to the hours my father puts in.’

      ‘He still works there?’ Luca answered his own question. ‘That’s right; I kept him on as a manager.’

      ‘Assistant manager,’ Felicity sneered. ‘Second in charge to the wonderful Matthew. A man who runs the resort by fear. A man who pumps the profits into his own pockets instead of maintaining the place. A man living off the good will my father nurtured when he was the owner.’

      ‘So why were you about to get engaged to him if he is so awful?’ Luca demanded. ‘Why did you walk in on his arm last night, half dressed and half drunk?’

      His scorching words would under any other circumstances have hurt, would have lacerated her with shame, but in Felicity’s present mood they barely touched the surface. Months of unvented fury finally came to the fore, her words so laced with venom she could barely get them out. ‘Because your partner made it very clear that unless I slept with him, unless I came up with the goods, my father would be out of a job!’

      ‘He is blackmailing you?’

      ‘Yes.’ Her word was sharp, definite—such a contrast to the question in his voice. ‘Your partner is blackmailing me.’

      ‘Partner? Matthew is not my partner.’ An incredulous laugh was followed by a bewildered shake of his head, but it didn’t last for long. Luca Santanno was obviously far more on the ball than Felicity had realized. His expression darkened, those blue eyes narrowing as he let out a long hiss. ‘Is that what he has been saying?’ When Felicity didn’t answer immediately his voice became more demanding. ‘Is that how this Matthew operates? How he exerts his authority? By letting the staff think he is the owner?’

      ‘Co-owner,’ Felicity corrected.

      ‘Co-owner?’ he blasted the word out of his mouth, like two pistol shots, and Felicity flinched with each one. ‘He is not a co-owner. I am the owner! All the managers of my minor resorts have a five per cent holding; it is good for morale,’ Luca explained his voice still angry. ‘It ensures profit.’

      ‘Ah, yes, profit.’ Felicity found her voice, her hazel eyes flashing with distaste, meeting Luca’s full on. ‘There it is again! We’re all very familiar with your love for that particular word.’

      ‘Scusi?’ For the first time Luca’s English slipped, but he quickly corrected himself. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

      ‘Profit,’ Felicity sneered. There was no point holding back now, she was already in it up to her neck, but at least she could let this jumped-up, haughty, control freak know exactly what she thought of him and his methods—pay him back for the agony he had inflicted on her family. At least the final word in this whole sorry saga would be hers. ‘That’s the bottom line for you—and the top one, and the bit in the middle. Profit’s why you pay your staff a pittance, why they have to stay behind night after night for no extra pay, why a beautiful resort is barely a shadow of what it used to be.’

      ‘Barely a shadow?’

      ‘Don’t pretend you don’t understand!’ Felicity retorted. ‘The resort is on its last legs—finished, kaput, finito. Now do you get it? Oh, I’m sure it’s still returning a healthy profit. I’m sure on paper everything looks just fine. But the staff are leaving in droves and it’s only a matter of time before the clients follow.’

      The silence that followed was awful. Felicity reeled, scarcely able to believe she had admitted the truth, least of all to Luca, and Luca in turn paled, the muscles in his face contorting in fury, his knuckles white as he dug his nails into his palms.

      ‘But what has all this to do with you? Why would you be…?’

      ‘Prepared to get engaged to him?’ Felicity finished as Luca’s voice trailed off. ‘You dare to ask why I would prostitute myself with a man like Matthew?’ She watched him flinch at her words and she enjoyed it—enjoyed watching the might that was Luca Santanno squirm. ‘Because I’m my father’s daughter. I see what needs to be done and I do it.’ When he didn’t respond she carried on, her small chin jutting defiantly, a stricken dignity in her strained voice. ‘My father isn’t the poor businessman you make out; he isn’t a gambler or a drinker who frittered his money away. My brother was dying…’ A tiny pause, a flicker of shadow darkening the gold of her eyes, the only indicator of the depth of her pain. ‘The money my father made from selling the resort bought Joseph some time.’

      ‘How much time?’

      ‘Six months. There was a treatment in America—it was never going to be a cure, but selling the resort turned a few agonising weeks into six precious months. It took him to Paris and Rome, gave us time to say all the things that needed to be said, to cram a lifetime of love into six wondrous months, and if he had his time over my father would do it all again.’

      ‘I still don’t understand.’

      ‘Death puts things into perspective, but it doesn’t stop the bills coming in.’ She was almost shouting again. ‘Your mortgage doesn’t disappear just because in the scheme of things it doesn’t really matter. My father has had to start again, now has to work for a pittance for the Santanno chain, has to watch his beloved resort dissolve into nothing. But he doesn’t complain. All my father wants is three more years of work. Three years to pay off his mortgage and get together some funds for his retirement—an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. But then what would the great Santanno empire know about that? All you care about is profit.’

      ‘You are wrong.’ Luca waved in abrupt dismissal. ‘Yes, I care about profit, I am a businessman after all, but I also care about my staff, and in turn they reward me with absolute devotion. I do not need to check up on them, breathe down their necks while they work, for I know they are giving one hundred per cent.’

      ‘They’re giving one hundred percent,’ Felicity snarled, ‘because they’re terrified of losing their jobs.’

      ‘Rubbish.’ If she’d seen him angry before then Luca was livid now, a muscle pounding in his cheek, his blue eyes blazing. ‘My staff know I look after them. I ensure their birthdays are remembered, their loyalty is rewarded. Take Rico, the man I was speaking with this morning, it is his fortieth wedding anniversary next weekend. He will be staying in this very room with his wife, receiving the same service I demand for myself…’

      ‘With a ten per cent staff discount,’ Felicity bit back. ‘Matthew reluctantly does the same.’

      ‘There will be no discount,’ Luca sneered. ‘There will be no bill at all. Rico deserves it.’

      For a moment she didn’t respond, absorbing his words, his vehement denial confusing her. He certainly didn’t sound like a man who mistreated his staff, didn’t sound like the ogre she had envisaged. Her initial abhorrence was shifting. The layers of the onion peeled back were revealing a man far removed from the malicious man she had built up in her mind. But suspicion still abounded. The simple facts spoke for themselves—she had seen first-hand the devastation his leadership caused.

      ‘This is Matthew’s fault.’ His voice was calmer now, but she could hear the hatred behind it, hear the venom behind each word. But his anger at Matthew brought only cold comfort; twelve months of pain were not eradicated that easily. ‘I would never treat my staff like that.’

      ‘But you have!’ Livid eyes